Keep In Mind
by lazy maisy
Summary: Soda has some impromptu alone time. He uses it to think about what's been bothering him the most. One shot


For the past few nights I have stayed up way too late writing this...hopefully it was all worth it!

Enjoy my FIRST STORY!

::::

"And your parents?" the cuffs around my wrists tighten and bite into my skin. The officer forces me roughly onto the bench, his question echoing around the room and leaving an empty pit in my stomach.

 _Oh no._ I have the overwhelming urge to puke. I need to get out of here. I'd been afraid he'd ask this.

It's been ten months.

"I-I-" irrepressible words choke out but I can't seem to use the right ones. I would need all night before I could answer that question. _They're dead_ would be offensive.

Because my parents were so much more than just _dead._ I suck in my breath, ready to erupt in a whole eulogy for them.

The words resonate around in my mouth. And they stay there for what seems like a long time.

I can't keep silent forever though. The longer I refused the later I went home, I reasoned. And besides, the cops expecting glare is making me squirm. My dad's favorite saying echoed through my head. " _Better something than nothing, Pepsi Cola."_

I can still hear his voice distinctively. I wonder how long I'll be able to do that for..

"They ain't here right now," I finally mumble with a downcast gaze. At least it was better than lying.

It takes a minute to set in but I cringe at my own way of making light of the situation. For a second I almost let myself believe my words in their finest.

 _They were just out of town...they'd be back soon..._ The false hope triggers tears in my throat.

But greasers don't cry.

"Hey..I recognize you." The cop suddenly exclaims as he crouches down to analyze my face. My heart starts racing. I just want to go home. Why can't he just let me call Darry to come bail me out? Sure, he'd be royally pissed but anything would be better than that cop's piercing glare. "You're the Curtis kid?"

I lick my dry lips. I knew what this meant. Lately the name _Curtis_ had been associated with sympathy and loss. I hated it with a bitter passion. "Uh-huh."

The cop's face falls into something I was all too used to seeing nowadays. Sharp lines of pity creased his features, making him look older than I'm sure he was.

Thoughts of " _God, I'm glad MY kid doesn't have to deal with this,"_ and " _Maybe I'll just sit here to smile and talk with him for a little while. My good deed for today. Converse with the orphan."_ seem to race across his eyes.

"Oh. Ok." the cop smiles forcibly. I curse the awkwardness.

Without wanting to, my mind flashes to that night. Ponyboy, on the couch, had been twisted in painful silent tears, a foreigner to me. He scared the living shit out of me. I didn't want to go near him.

He wasn't my younger brother, and I wasn't Sodapop Curtis.

But as far as scaring me went, Ponyboy had nothing on Darry. He just froze. He was a statue, practically departed from the room. We'd received the phone call and he had silently said " _Nope. Not right now. I'll deal with this later, just not now…"_

He hadn't even cried. But I knew it wasn't for lack of grief. He just wasn't sure what to make of it.

And then we'd lost him until the morning; when it all sunk in. But even then he wasn't fully there. He stayed only for us: but the Darry Curtis I knew was long gone in the breeze.

"-your brother."

Dazed, I look back up at the cop. I had forgotten I was in the police station. My brain is still ingrained with images of Pony's face contorted with sobs and of Darry rooted to the spot. Other than that that night is a blur I'm glad to have far behind me

"Huh?"

"I said I'll call your brother." the cop says; dripping with sympathy. "And then you can go home."

"How much?" I implore drowsily, dreading the answer.

"What?"

"How much'll it cost Darry to bail me out?" I had to know how much of my paycheck I'd have to give him to fill in the gap I'd made. Even if he begrudgingly accepted it.

The cop smiles thinly. "You ain't gotta worry about that. It was only a coupla candy bars and a pack of smokes. I've sure as hell seen a lot worse, kid."

 _Since when does the fuzz give a damn?_ I think bitterly of Dallas Winston. I can almost guarantee that if the accident hadn't taken place that I wouldn't be getting off so easy.

For a fleeting second I'm grateful for the excuse that let me get off free.

Then I'm overtaken with crippling guilt.

 _Grateful?_ I have to bite my tongue till it bleeds to keep from jumping up and screaming at myself. As it is guilty, mourning tears are leaking to my eyes.

The cop has crossed the room to make the phone call home, and I slump into the cold and foreboding seat. I deserve the sharp corner jabbing into my back.

 _What the hell had I been thinking?_

"I'm sorry," I mutter. No one hears it but the words are directed at my parents. "I didn't - I didn't mean that shit."

I don't ever realize how late it is. The events of the night slip away from me as the walls of the police station blur into blackness. The last thing I see before nodding off is the form of the cop, still talking away on the phone in the corner. _Probably having to deal with Darry and his worrying.._

"He's here at the Tulsa Police Depart-"

::::

Dad hoists me up onto the bike, instructs me how to grip the handle bars correctly. I follow the positions of his hands to a tee.

I feel filled with desperation, sick of being left in the dust. No more watching from the sidelines after this.

"That's right Pepsi Cola. You got it." Dad's voice was calm and collected in my ear. He always had a way of making me believe I did have this under control, when really I felt like I was spinning out of it.

He swore to me he'd hold onto the seat with his hand as I went. I trusted Dad more than anyone in the world, but this was vital. I had to be sure.

"Are you holdin the seat Dad?"

"Course I am."

A secret relief sweeps over me. Nobody could ever know how safe I felt at that moment, all because my father was keeping his firm grasp on the bike. I'd never tell Darry. I'd never hear the end of it from him, but somehow I know without knowing that'd he'd had our dad do this exact same thing.

Dad speaks again. "Ready Soda?"

"Yeah..I'm ready." I quiver, hoping my voice doesn't wobble and expose my hidden fear.

Before I take off my mind goes giddy with excitement at images of myself blowing Darry and Two-Bit out of the water on this bike. Even if it was an old and rusted hand-me-down, it was _mine._

I put my feet to the pedals and push forwards. The bike teeters ahead and I can't help but steer my eyes away from the ground. The cement rushing by and the spinning of the tire makes me feel dizzy.

But it feels great, too.

The one thing that keeps me holding on is knowing that Dad is keeping his grip on the bike.

"You got it, Pepsi Cola. You got it."

I _do_ have it. I'm flying down the street, houses and plants rushing by. I'm going faster than I ever thought was possible.

That's when it occurs to me that I can't hear the pounding of Dad's feet behind me.

He isn't trailing with me behind the bike and the weight of his hand isn't there to secure me from falling after all. Without thinking, I whip my head around, away from what's in front of me.

I crash to the ground with the sight of my father standing at the other end of the street, grinning with pride. The smile erupts anger inside of me. Frustrated and hurting, I stand up abruptly and snatch up the bike which I had fallen from.

My heart is pounding with a fear that I had never felt before. Betrayal. I feel lied to, by my own father.

But I had _done_ it.

I can hear my Dad's distant yell. "That's it Pepsi Cola! _That's it!"_

I crack a grin at the same time I start crying.

::::

"Oh Soda," Mom sighs, pressing the back of her hand up against her forehead. She doesn't have to say anything else. I don't want her to.

I don't need her telling me how sick I am, because I can sure as hell feel it. It's almost like our secret, stretched out between the two of us. And only us.

After awhile I forget what normal feels like. I can't seem to recall a life where I could breathe normal or sit up without my head spinning.

"I'm dying," I groan, knowing exactly how stupid and melodramatic I sound. But I know my mother will get a kick out of it and I want her to laugh. I sink deeper into the sheets.

To my pleasure Mom cracks a grin. "You are far from dying, Sodapop Curtis." her voice carries a gentle calmness. It's the kind of voice you'd use on a baby...but times ten.

Because it takes a lot more to convince an 11 year old everything is ok than it is a 1 year old.

But that's just Mom. She has a gift. We could be stranded on the road in the middle of a bomb raid and she'd be shushing my screams and humming quietly for me to duck and cover.

However, I'd never let Dad take care of me when I'm sick. I don't tell him this of course. But Dad is better at teaching me to throw a football and telling me to buck up when I fall off my bike. Sickness would be an embarrassment around him.

But Mom doesn't care if I'm stuck moaning on the couch. I'm always the same to her. That's why sickness is reserved for Mom.

"Mom," I whisper. I would've said it out loud but my throat is the equivalent to a sheet of sandpaper. "Don't tell Darry about this."

I know Darry's had his days like I am right now too. But neither of us will ever admit to it.

To my relief, my mother's laugh fills the room and almost makes me feel normal again. I think my mother's laughter could be the cure to just about anything.

"Of course not Soda. Why in the name of the Lord would I do that?"

A smile tugs at my lips. "Dunno."

She plants a final kiss on my forehead and crosses the room. She finally turns off the lights, which had seemed too bright. _Thank you._

"Goodnight, Sodapop."

I settle into the sheets, grateful for how cool they are.

That's another thing about Mom. She's good at keeping secrets.

::::

"Darry c'mon.."

" _No._ I told you that already." he shoves me back from the door where I had cornered him in order to get my point across. The push barely fazes me but I exaggerate it, making a show of stumbling back and coming close to clashing with the couch.

My brother just rolls his eyes at me. I try not to look hurt but disappointment is eating me up. It was never like this before..

"I ain't gonna embarrass you," I mutter at him through clenched teeth, trying to put up a tough façade that would make him take me with him. Friday nights just weren't meant to be spent at home.

Darry just manages to look annoyed. "Dad don't want you going to _Buck's,_ Soda." he drawls tauntingly. "You should really be keepin _Ponyboy company,_ too."

He had been hoping to capture my father's attention by throwing me under the bus; but when I turn around I can see him still practically glued to the crossword that he'd been working on for the past half hour.

I smirk at Darry smugly. That's our Dad. When he puts his mind to something he doesn't stop till it's done.

Darry only grunts in my direction. "Tell him I'll be back by 12." he grumbles and pushes through the door leaving me stranded and left behind. I groan.

This had been who Darry was for the past three months . His position on the football team gave him a real high horse. It had carried over from school straight into our house, much to my displeasure.

Now Darry's the king, and I'm the neglected subject. We piss each other off a lot more than we ever had before...any other time and I wouldn't've even had to _ask_ for Darry to take me to that party.

Hearing the front door slam shut, Dad finally perks up. Seeing me and the disgruntled expression on my face, he smiles, making light of the situation as always.

"What's gotcha Pepsi Cola?"

When Dad asks a question it's better not to fight it. He'll find out anyways, in ways I can never explain.

"Darry." I spat. "He thinks that he's _so cool.."_ I halt myself before I can spin into degrading my older brother even more.

Instead of getting mad, Dad just laughs. His nonchalance about the situation hits worse than anger anyways.

I feel a spark of annoyance somewhere seeing that I really am upset, but manage to swallow it down. Sometimes his laid back attitude is a blessing. Other times it's a curse.

But maybe this was all stupid anyways.

"Just let it pass, son. It'll be over in a few short years." He quips.

I can't help but groan. _A few years?_ If Dad said so...he had to be right.

Being thirteen, that seemed like it would drag out forever. I'd be trapped with high-school-ridden, stuck up Darry for the rest of my life. Sodapop Curtis, always second best.

Little did I know how quickly a few years could pass.

::::

I stumble inside, still wallowing in the glory of having broken the barrier of never being drunk. I'm not without shame though; seeing it had taken me 14 years to get here. Behind me, Two-Bit claps a hand over my back with so much force my shaking limbs almost keel over. Bile rises to my throat.

"Welcome to the club Sodapop," Two-Bit congratulates drunkenly. The waver in his voice gets me excited. This was real.

Two-Bit's basement had been the place to be tonight. A stroke of luck had cast both his mother and sister out of the picture...leaving me, him, Steve and a whole lot of booze.

"Golly, I hope they're out." I wobble, _they're_ referring to my parents. They've been starting to trust Darry a lot more with Ponyboy and I lately. I can only hope tonight is one of those nights.

I hate to think about what might happen if it isn't.

"Ha ha," Steve's monotone laugh creeps up from behind me. "Well...good luck buddy." Him and Two-Bit turn and start heading back down the walk. _What, no._ I feel my heart sink. _I'm in some deep shit._

"Wait. You're _leaving?"_ the words fall from my mouth uselessly onto the cement. "Show some mercy, y'all."

Two-Bit bursts into a set of loud guffaws. "Goin in there right now would be like self-sacrifice, Sodapop. You know we ain't into that." he winks. "Good _riddance."_

 _Leave it to them. Great friends till they get drunk._ I think bitterly. Bracing myself, I swing open the door and get ready to face the music that awaits me. Probably in an armchair or hovering over the kitchen table.

The light that flows out of the living room onto the darkened porch. I don't even step through the doorway before Mom's heads shoots up. As I predicted, she's pounding around in the kitchen.

"Sodapop," she gasps. The expression on her face says it all. Mom is the worst person to have angry at you; mostly because she can never act angry the _right_ way. She doesn't yell, but she doesn't use that low, disappointed tone either. She just talks. Sometimes I'd rather she scream in my face. Anything but the seeping guilt she causes me.

"Come inside. You're letting the heat out." she states plainly. It's August.

Either way, I step inside and shut the door gingerly behind me. Mom doesn't bother moving away from the kitchen table. Once again bile rises to my throat and I go cold with guilt.

"Where were you? It's the middle of the night."

I don't bother to ask what _she_ was doing up so late. I know I had worried her enough to keep her from sleeping, and the thought makes my stomach churn because my mother is the last person who deserves to be worried. It's a shock I don't puke right then and there.

But that comes next.

I open my mouth to reply - and for the record, I was about to tell the truth - when the all the nights drinks and guilt comes flying upwards. I unroot myself from the spot and make a mad dash towards the bathroom.

When I finish throwing up I can see Mom in the doorway, shaking her head with disapproval. "I knew it. What am I gonna do with you, Sodapop Curtis?"

Just to make sure she doesn't get the wrong idea, I spit out exactly what I had been doing that night. "I-I got drunk." And for good measure,

"Yes. And you did a phenomenal job at keepin it subtle."

Relieved that I hadn't been locked in a closet or told to sleep outside, I lean heavily up against the bathtub. I'm still washed out in remorse but some of it is starting to fade. Mom just stands and watches.

"Don't tell Ponyboy about this." she says, her voice still plain as day. "We don't need _him_ gettin any ideas. Not yet anyways." My head is spinning but I nod.

Then she leaves. I don't see her again till lunchtime the next day, when I finally wake up.

At least she let me sleep.

::::

"Hop to, little buddy."

For a split second I feel a surge of hopefulness when I hear the voice above me. I think it's Dad.

Then I realize with a shock that I'm in the police station again. It comes with dissatisfaction; I desperately wanted to revisit my parents again, even if it was just for a few more minutes.

I cling to the last few memories I have of them for as long as I can. But they slip away from me, and bitter reality slips in.

Coming to my senses, I realize with a flutter of disappointment that the voice is only Darry. Nostalgia spikes when I hear how much he sounds like Dad.

I feel slightly embarrassed to have him seeing me like this; hunched over on the metal bench for who know's how long. But I'm a) too tired to care and b) glad to be finally heading home.

"Oh hey Darry," I mutter nonchalantly. He only sighs and hooks his elbow into mine, dragging me to my feet. He starts leading me outside like I'm a misbehaved dog. _What did I do to deserve a brother like him?_

Then Darry starts what I knew all along would be coming: his infamous lecture."You ought to be more aware Sodapop."

I sigh, already _aware_ of the information he was feeding me. "I know."

"Just be careful next time, ok? Just...I don't know- _think."_

He stops to haul me into the car and get in next to me. As we start driving away I realize he isn't saying anything else. He'd kept it short and sweet and to the point. Satisfied, I settle back into the seat.

Maybe Darry had taken a page out of their book.

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Well, was it ok?

Please review!

MWAH


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